


Balconies

by TheTownTart



Category: DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Allmates are real animals, Apartment AU, Artist!Mink, Fluff, Haga-san is an artist too, M/M, Violence in Later Chapters, balconies, childish bickering, there will be smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-20 08:37:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3643755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTownTart/pseuds/TheTownTart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After helping Koujaku move into a new apartment, Aoba steps out on to the balcony to take in the view, and finds that the balcony next door has a much nicer view: the reclusive, artistic neighbor who can't seem to keep his eyes off Aoba. Even though their personalities seem to clash every time they exchange words, something keeps pulling them back to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Moving Day

It was only mid-morning but the day was warm and sunny, not a cloud in sight as Aoba slid open the glass door and stepped out onto the balcony. Koujaku's apartment faced eastward so the sun drenched the verandas of the building despite the awning of shade that each floor should have provided to the floor below it. Aoba walked up to the railing and rested his arms on the edge of it, face turned up and basking in the warm spring sunlight.

Koujaku had gone out to buy drinks to celebrate unpacking the last box of junk that had been toted up and plopped down in the corner of his new apartment. Aoba, while not necessarily a fan of drinking so early in the day, was excited to celebrate in such a nice place.

Koujaku had asked him to help out with the move over a week ago, and he didn't forget about agreeing to help, but that still didn't prepare Aoba for being rolled out of bed at six in the morning to play cardboard Tetris with Mizuki and Koujaku in a moving truck that would have functioned better as a freezer, because it trapped the frigid morning air so well; or to have to tote said cardboard up three or four flights of stairs, down a stretch of hallway, and into a huge apartment that Aoba noticed was much too large for the single Koujaku.

“What the hell, man?” Aoba looked around after setting the first of many boxes down, stooping to catch his breath. “What are you going to do with all this space?” He asked as Koujaku walked through the front door and set a couple more boxes down, chuckling to himself. 

“Aoba, a guy as popular as me needs as much space as he can get.” 

He was clearly joking but Aoba scoffed, raising his eyebrows. 

“You're right! A hippo with such a big head _does_ need as much space as he can get.”

 “Aoba! That's cruel!” 

Aoba laughed to himself, reveling in his victory, and walked out of the apartment; Koujaku followed him out, pouting the whole way back down to the moving truck.

 

After they had finished, a full two and a half hours later (Aoba thanking his lucky stars that Koujaku was only a bachelor) Koujaku had gone out and Aoba took the chance to take a look around. It really wasn't all that much bigger than Koujaku's old studio apartment, except for the fact that it had _two_ separate bedrooms and a kitchen that was partitioned off by a half-wall with space for a dining area to the side. The apartment as a whole was of average size, but for someone like Koujaku, the space was excessive. Aoba wondered if he were planning on rooming with someone. The rent on this place definitely had to push past the boundaries of Koujaku's budget, but he wouldn't say that out loud. It wasn't any of Aoba's business after all.

 _But it is a beautiful place_ , Aoba thought as he looked across at the other building.

It was identical to all the others except for the vibrant color of its paint, and then down to the courtyard sandwiched in the center of the complex. It was lush and green with new spring life; grass, and trees, and freshly planted flowerbeds swaying in the breeze that had picked up. Koujaku was on the fourth floor, and the breeze up here was chilly enough to make Aoba shudder. 

The sound of wind chimes rang light and airy from the balcony next door. It made Aoba smile, thinking of the chimes that Granny would hang from their porch when he was young, and he turned to watch them peacefully. His breath hitched. 

Before he took in the wind chimes, he had to stop and take in the balcony next door. It was beautiful, shielded on the far side by wooden latticework that was hung with the vines of a thriving ivy plant, whose vines curled up around the awning supports and railing, falling down to the balcony below; which the other neighbor didn't seem to mind, as the vines there swayed, untouched, in the wind. 

Hanging all around the deck were ornaments, decorations, and, of course, wind chimes, that all looked handmade, with materials like beads, gemstones, and feathers woven into the handiwork. Aoba stood upright, amazed, as the sun caught some of the translucent gemstones and made them glitter, and he was about to step to the side of the veranda to get a closer look when something caused him to jump. 

In the shadow of the neighbor's balcony was _the neighbor_ himself, sitting on a couch that had more cushion than frame, with a mug of coffee in one hand and the other resting on the spine of a book that was splayed open in his palm. He was like a gargoyle, if gargoyles were beautiful; huge and seemingly chiseled out of stone. As though it wouldn't have been embarrassing enough to be caught gawking at someone else's stuff, the man was staring Aoba down. His face was regal, with high cheekbones and a narrow nose; a powerful jaw that flexed and made something in Aoba's stomach knot; his lips, twitched up into a smirk, one that would have been more of a sneer if Aoba hadn't made the mistake of locking eyes with him. He could feel the blood in his body thrumming all the way from his chest to his ears.

Although the man was sitting in the shade, the sun glinted off of his irises just like the amber stones that hung from his balcony. He looked at Aoba from the corner of his eyes almost playfully. 

“Pretty.” Aoba bleated, like a confused little goat, the first words that came to his mind. He felt his cheeks burn hotter, probably glowing like the heating elements of a stove, and he wobbled on his feet with the dizziness.

“I- I mean the decorations-- they're very pretty.”

The man raised his eyebrows, the low rumble of a chuckle barely audible, but it rung in Aoba's ears.

“Thank you.” 

Rain wasn't in the forecast today, but Aoba swore he just heard thunder. 

The man didn't say any more, but continued to stare at Aoba, who fidgeted under the scrutiny and turned his head. 

“I'm sorry but-- Um--” He threw a questioning look at the neighbor, whose smirk grew wider. 

The neighbor opened his mouth to say something, the points of his teeth showing like the snowy caps of mountains on the horizon, when Koujaku's door slammed open and his voice pierced the atmosphere like someone threw a javelin right at it.

“Aoba! I'm back! And Mizuki came back to drink with us, too. Hey, Aoba?”

Mizuki walked by the door, going toward the kitchen and waving hello with a beer in one hand and the opened case in the other.

“I'm just getting some air,” Aoba reassured, but Koujaku barged out onto the veranda anyway.

“What are you doing out here?”

Aoba glanced over at the neighbor's balcony to find that the man was gone. The book he was reading lay propped open on the couch, suggesting he would be back to read more. Aoba stood on the tips of his toes to try and get a look at the title. He didn't read much, but he was just curious to know this little tidbit of information. Koujaku's hand rested itself on Aoba's shoulder as he walked over to the side of the balcony.

“Oooh~ It's pretty every time I see it. Neat decorations right? The super showed me the apartment and as soon as I stepped out here and saw that, I decided four flights of stairs wouldn't be so bad for a view like this. It's pretty cozy, y'know?" 

Aoba stared. 

“Koujaku- Somehow, 'cozy' isn't a word I feel would accurately describe your...tastes.” 

“Aoba, you say the meanest things! You just don't know how cozy I can be,” Koujaku leaned oppressively against Aoba, who squirmed away. Then he suddenly let go and walked into the apartment.

“Anyway, come drink with us, it's been a long day.” 

“It's not even midday yet!”Aoba shouted, his body beginning to turn, but he kept his eyes trained on the door of the neighboring balcony for a few more moments, until he followed Koujaku back inside and slid the door shut behind him.


	2. Just a Little Off the Top

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aoba meets Koujaku's neighbor for the second time, and they actually get to have a conversation. Until a small detail derails it for the both of them.

The next time Aoba saw _him_ was when he was delivering a package to Koujaku. It was late afternoon, when the sun glows that golden yellow and the day is at its warmest, when he walked into the front entrance of the apartment building. Nearly the whole front wall of the entry building was glass, so when Aoba walked into the foyer the sunlight spilled in and coated the walls like honey. He looked up and marveled for a good few minutes at the sight, walking forward with his mouth hanging open in delight until he walked right into someone.

It was like walking into a brick wall, because their body didn't even rock backward or budge an inch when Aoba slammed into them. They were huge, towering above him so that, standing so close, they blocked out the sunlight filtering through the windows. Aoba was kind of scared by that, so he looked up to apologize–

“Oh my god, I'm so sorr-”

–And then inhaled too quickly and choked on his spit. He turned away, coughing into the sleeve of his jacket.

It was Koujaku's neighbor, _the_ neighbor, the one he talked to while standing out on the veranda; If you could call awkward two-word exchanges “talking.” That was nearly two weeks ago, but the man seemed to recognize him.

“You alright?”

Oh no. The sky was clear and sunny, but Aoba heard thunder again, and it made his heart thrum. Maybe he was scared of thunderstorms afterall.

He coughed one last time and inhaled, hoping the intake of oxygen would make the blood disperse from his cheeks. It didn't.

“I'm- Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry about that, er, running into you. And- Uh.”

Aoba fidgeted. He was standing within two feet of the man, rather than ten, and his gaze was far more powerful up close. Face regal, lined and creased by its own muscles, stretching the skin taught with a harsh sense of self-control. His lips were full, and had a slight frown to them, like he was thoroughly unimpressed.

But his eyes, oh, _his_ _eyes._ They were the color of the sunlight that trickled in and beat against the contours of his olive skin, but they had almost none of the warmth. Like a lighthouse, they flashed, warning you to be wary of the rocky shore and its unforgiving nature. And if his gaze was anything, it was unforgiving. When he looked at you, his eyes stole from you, cut you down to size, made you feel like you were just that much smaller. But for some reason Aoba couldn't look away, felt a little compelled to keep making eye contact.

The man huffed and shut the tiny metal door of his mailbox, still looking down at Aoba. He crossed his arms with mail in hand.

“It's fine. What were you doing?”

Aoba had to blink a couple of times to shake himself out of his daze.

“Um. I was-” He felt embarrassed, having to admit that he was gawking again, until he remembered the package in his hand.

“Oh, right.” He held it up, “I was actually delivering this to someone that lives here.” 

The man's eyebrows rose slightly.

“You don't live here?” 

“No, just a friend. Why?” 

“I was just wondering why I haven't seen you in almost two weeks.”

Aoba felt his stomach do that weird flip floppy thing and once again he bleated a response before thinking it through first.

“You remember me?”

 _Goddammit. Of course he does, you idiot, or else he wouldn't have said that to you._  

The man laughed, which was more of a breathy hum. 

“Well, you admired my decorations so much before. How could I forget you? Oh. By the way-” 

He paused for a moment, blinking like he realized something.

 “What is your name?”

 Aoba stood still.

  _Oh._

 “I'm Aoba. Seragaki Aoba.” He smiled as he said his own name, and for some reason the man's eyes glinted, like a fog had just cleared behind them. 

“Well, Seragaki Aoba,” The man smiled back at him, exposing his teeth, “I'm Mink.”

 Aoba cocked his head to the side.

 “Just Mink?”

 “Just Mink.”

 “Well then, hello, Mink.” 

He must have had a stupid look on his face because Mink laughed again. 

“Hello.” 

Then he stood to the side and gestured to the open courtyard with the palm of his hand turned up.

 “Would you care to walk with me back to the building?”

 “Oh, yeah. Sure.”

 Aoba felt a little too eager, his voice still working faster than his brain, as he bounced to Mink's side as they exited the main building. Mink was at least twice his size and could probably beat Aoba's power walk with two leisurely strides of his legs, but right now he took his time. They were quiet as they took in the warmth of the spring day, soaking in the blue skies and budding flowers, knowing the last good snowstorm of the season was looming somewhere within the next few weeks. 

Mink spoke first.

“So you're a courier?” 

“Mhm. Of sorts.” He paused, watching as Mink's brows rose again, curious. 

“I'm the only employee at a store here in town, so I run packages around to the local customers. Except for this one,” He held up the package in his hand, “Since I was on my way to see my friend anyway.” 

“Your friend- The one who lives next door?” 

“Koujaku.” 

“Yes, that was his name, wasn't it? We've only met in passing. He seems to come and go a lot.” 

Aoba laughed. 

“Yeah, that suits his lifestyle better. He's a freelance hair stylist. More like a busker, really, since half of it is a performance for the ladies- Oh.”

“Hm?” 

“That's probably what this is,” He shook the package lightly, listening for the sound of the content rattling inside. 

“New shears.”

 Aoba laughed to himself as he tested the weight of the package in his palm. It felt about right.

 “I was talking about how annoying this was getting,” He gathered the messy strands of his hair from behind his ears and tossed it back behind his head, “And he said he would get a brand new pair of shears to cut it for me.” 

He started to smile but it fell when he looked at Mink. His face seemed a little strained, the holding-back-a-passive-aggressive-comment kind of strained. 

“Something wrong?" 

A long pause.

“You shouldn't cut it.” 

“Huh?” 

“Your hair.” Mink's eyes locked with his and they both stopped right outside the apartment staircase. 

“You shouldn't cut it.”

 _What the hell?_ Aoba glanced at the hair that tumbled down Mink's back, beautiful and obviously well groomed, with braids falling in line between layers. _And he's telling me not to cut_ my _hair?_  

Everyone always had a comment when it came to his hair. 

“Well, I never said yes. But it is my hair after all. So, if I wanted to, I would cut it.” 

Their gazes met and this time Aoba's flashed with their own warning: that it would be dangerous to pursue this topic any further. Okay, maybe his stare wasn't as intense as Mink's, but Aoba wasn't about to take shit from some guy, no matter how overbearing or compelling his presence was. 

And he just looked down at Aoba, seemingly searching for something to say. After a few moments he opened his mouth– 

“Hey Aoba!” 

-And Koujaku's voice yelled out from behind them. They both turned to see him walking up toward the building, grinning with a bag of groceries in one hand and waving with the other. 

“Oh, Koujaku. I thought you were already home?” 

“I was, but I realized I invited you over for dinner with nothing in my fridge-- Don't make that face!” 

“You're a terrible host,” Aoba pulled his tongue back into his mouth and took a glance over at Mink, only to find him gone. 

“He disappeared again?”

Koujaku stood beside him now.

“Who? That guy? Yeah he started walking up the stairs after you turned around. Were you two talking?” 

The flicker of irritation flared to life in Aoba at the sheer rudeness. He didn't even say goodbye.

  _What the hell?!_  

“Ah, hey, you okay?” Koujaku eyed him, looking a little worried. 

“Yeah,” Aoba rubbed at his temples, “Let's just go upstairs.” 

“Okay. Hey, I bought some beer too. Stay and drink with me tonight?”

 

 

Aoba leaned on the wall that separated the kitchen from the rest of the apartment, beer in hand, gulping here and there as he watched Koujaku whip up something for dinner. He wasn't paying that much attention, really.

 “And then he's just like, 'You shouldn't cut it.' Like, dude, I just met you.”  

“Another one of those, huh? Maybe this is a sign. You should rebel, chop it all off!”  

“I have half a mind to. Maybe I'll just go bald. Then people would keep their comments to themselves.”  

Koujaku's shoulders tensed and he made a weird face.  

“That was just a joke, Aoba.” 

Aoba stuck his tongue out. 

“I know, you hippo! I was joking too,” He ran a hand through his hair, “Besides, cutting it all off like that would hurt too much.”  

Though he was more calm, Koujaku side-eyed Aoba as he went back to cooking.  

“Although I have half a mind to take you up on that offer, just to spite him.”  

All was quiet for a few moments after that. The sound of Koujaku stirring food halted, but he didn't turn or look at Aoba. 

“This really pisses you off, huh?”  

“Hell yes it does.” 

Aoba took the last swig of his beer and crushed the can in his hand, dropping it into the trash bin.  

“I'm sorry if I ever pissed you off by offering to cut it.”  

At this Aoba perked up; maybe he was just tipsy, but Koujaku's tone made him feel fidgety and guilty.  

“Huh? Oh come on, you're a hair stylist! You're supposed to talk people into letting you cut their hair.”  

He laughed, and Koujaku's shoulders seemed to slump back to their resting position as he got back to work. 

 “And besides-- it was just his tone that got to me. Like I was going to commit sacrilege or something.” 

 “It sounds like this guy really pissed you off.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I can fight him.”

“What--”

“Or, you can come to my little 'housewarming party' tomorrow night, and maybe the noise will irritate him for an evening. I'd honestly rather not fight that guy. He looks like he'd kill me.” 

Aoba never knew what to make of Koujaku's off-kilter humor, but chalked it up to him working to keep the “hippo” title he had grown so used to. But a party, even just the small one it would be, sounded great. 

“First of all, you moved in two weeks ago. The time for warming your 'house' seems about over--” 

“Look, do you want to come or not?”

“--And secondly, not only are you a terrible host, but a terrible neighbor to boot.” 

Koujaku's brows knitted together, unsure if Aoba was joking. Aoba laughed at that. 

“But, I'll accept. Is dinner done?” 

“Yeah." 

Koujaku released a breath he didn't realize he was holding in and turned to take out plates. Aoba walked around him and brought them out of the cabinet before he could raise a hand. 

“I got it, I got it. You made dinner, I'll serve it.” 

He held the plates out of reach so Koujaku sighed and stepped away. He got a beer from the fridge and sipped at it as he watched Aoba from the dining area. 

“Oh, hey, Aoba?” 

“Hm?” 

“Spite aside, if the day ever comes when you really want to cut it, you know, I'll make it as painless as possible.” 

“Are you kidding? You'll cost me an arm and a leg!” 

Koujaku chuckled, “Free of charge, of course! You're the only person with his own pair of shears, you know.” 

He took the package Aoba had delivered out of his pocket and waved it around. Before he could serve anything, Aoba threw a serving spoon at Koujaku who laughed and swiped it out of the way with his arm.

Needless to say, Koujaku both made and served his own dinner that night.

 


	3. Miscommunications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aoba learns why people are sometimes so blunt in conversation, and shares this knowledge with Mink after he's had one- no, maybe five too many. But it's okay, Aoba understands what it's like to have an "unfriendly disposition."

“Aoba, this is the last time! If you want breakfast you had better get your butt down here!”

Granny's hoarse voice was followed by a few yips that sounded equally displeased at not having breakfast laid out by now. When Aoba didn't respond, there was the pitter-patter of tiny footsteps and a small scratching at his door.

Aoba threw his pillow at it.

“I'm up, I'm up! Stop clawing the door, Ren!”

Almost immediately, the clawing stopped and Aoba flopped face down against his mattress. He sighed into the fabric and began to stretch before rolling out of bed. When he opened his door Ren was sitting beside it, staring up at him.

“Good morning, Ren. Granny's in a bad mood already, eh?”

Ren sniffed and trotted down the stairs, Aoba not far behind. When he entered the kitchen, he found his suspicions to be true: Granny was in quite a foul mood. She stood at the counter cracking eggs into a bowl, her face while she was doing it stern enough to make Aoba feel a little queasy. Or, maybe it was his hangover.

“You shouldn't stumble in so late if you don't want a rude awakening.”

“Ah jeez, Granny, I'm sorry if I woke you up.”

“It's fine. Either help me out, or don't eat breakfast.”

Aoba bowed his head, feeling defeated as he walked over to the counter. He took out other food for breakfast, potatoes, bacon, cooking oil, among other things, and got to work.

“Granny.”

“Mm?”

“You seem a little bit off today.”

“Is that so?”

Aoba waited a moment, but she didn't say anything more. He inhaled, prepared for a verbal lashing.

“Are you angry with me?”

She sighed and stopped her actions, setting her hands down to rest on the counter, and looked over at Aoba.

“No, Aoba, I'm not angry with you, or anyone in particular.”

“Did something happen?”

She sighed again.

“A patient of mine is troubling me.”

Aoba was still, more awake at the mention of a patient. He waited attentively for her to continue.

“She's really a very nice young woman. But she suffers from chronic migraines, can't function during one of her attacks, and has three children to look after. I started her on something like your migraine medication last week, but significantly watered down.

It didn't really do that much for her, probably due to the amount of painkillers she was taking beforehand to treat the attacks, but before I can up the dose, her husband asks me, 'What kind of physician are you if you can't even make someone's headache go away? What are you going to do if it's something serious?'”

Aoba stood straighter, the hair on the back of his neck raising in anger and also fear at the sheer audacity of the man.

_No one talks to Granny like that._

“Did you slug 'im? 'Cause I would've, Granny. If you didn't, you were too nice.”

The palm of her hand came down on the back of Aoba's head and left a keen sting in its wake.

“You ask me about it, and don't even let me finish my story! Jeez, I raised the worst listener.”

“You aren't even mad at that guy?!”

“I was, _b_ _ut_ -” She eyed him, as if daring him to interrupt her.

“But, I took a minute to really think about why he was saying it to me. It had nothing to do with my skills as a healer, but more with his insecurity about his wife. Think about it; the poor woman is home alone all day with three children and no one else to care for her. If she collapses, both she and the children are helpless. And you know better than most how debilitating and long-lasting migraine attacks are. Think about how he feels.

And I know that, when people are feeling helpless or nervous, they will be harsher on others because of it. Bluntness is, more often than not, a sign of vulnerability, a way for a person who feels helpless to establish some semblance of control over their situation. For this man, I guess it was ridiculing the doctor trying to help his wife. Not ethical, but in his situation, I could see his reasons.”

Aoba frowned, eyeing his grandmother.

“And you aren't angry with him?”

She swatted him even harder on the back of the head.

“Of course I'm angry, you idiot! I have a right to be angry! But I know better than to put it off on someone who doesn't deserve it. Right now, though, I'm more worried about how to treat his wife.”

At this, Aoba stilled, and Granny huffed, turning back to sweep the broken egg shells into the garbage. It was quiet for a few moments as she picked a whisk out of the utensil drawer and started working again. Then she spoke, softly this time.

“You were quite drunk last night. Did something upset _you_?”

She was as sharp as ever. Aoba exhaled slowly as he turned on the stove, watching as she whisked the eggs.

“Uh- Yeah. I got into it with someone.”

“Who? Koujaku? Mizuki?”

“What?” Aoba gave a breathless laugh. “No, no, neither of them. I don't really even know the guy.”

Granny stopped whisking to look at him.

“What could 'the guy' have said to upset you that much?”

He paused.

“It was over something stupid. But it wasn't what he said, just how he said it.”

He huffed and looked away.

“But, now that you said that, about pawning your anger off on someone who doesn't deserve it, I think that's what I did. I blew it all out of proportion I guess.”

“Choose your battles wisely, Aoba.”

"Yeah, yeah. I know that, Granny. You taught me best."

"That's true. Now help me make something edible out of this."

She then handed him the bowl of whisked eggs, and he poured it into the pan as granny set to work frying the bacon. Ren twined between their legs, wagging his little tail excitedly as they cooked up a storm.

 

 

 

“Hey Aoba! What's up?”

“Well, I feel kind of like a tool. Where's the alcohol?”

Koujaku barely had time to process the greeting before Aoba pushed past him into the apartment, making for the hard liquor. He didn't even spare a glance for the beer or any of the guests that greeted him.

“Woah! Hey, are you _trying_ to get shitfaced already? Aoba- No don't mix those, you'll vomit everywhere!”

“The walls need something on them anyway.”

“Jeez, you're _still_ angry?” Koujaku rubbed his face, massaging all the hundreds of aching muscles that formed his frown, careful not to shift his bangs too far away from his cheek. He sighed and watched as everyone cheered for Aoba and the huge glass of vodka he poured for himself.

“Jesus, Aoba, that's not a shot, that's a death sentence, put it the fuck down!”

Needless to say, no matter how much he fussed, Koujaku couldn't wrestle away any of Aoba's liquor before he swallowed it down in a few gulps and didn't manage to choke, or vomit, or cry.

 

 

 

By midnight, everyone was still partying. It was more of a big chatterfest with liquor than it was a party, but people were still having a good time. At some point the dedicated driver tripped over someone's feet and toppled over the coffee table, making some wonder if he was fit to be their driver, but everyone still yelled for Koujaku to show them where his medical supplies were. Previously keeping a heavy handed watch over him, Koujaku sat Aoba down in a dining chair and tried to lock eyes to let Aoba know he meant business. But Aoba was smashed, and his eyes were glazed beyond any recognition, so Koujaku just pointed at him and slurred, “Stay here, Aoba. Stay. Don't. Move.” Before he wandered off to help find the first-aid kit where he'd stashed it in a closet somewhere.

As he swayed in the chair, watching everyone gather round and follow Koujaku to the back of the apartment, Aoba realized he had been hearing two different tracks of music for a while now. People in Koujaku's apartment had been playing some weird indie-rock-whatever off of their phones when he got here, and it seemed to be still playing as he stood and peered at the couple of abandoned smart phones on the counters and tables. But behind it, there was an off-tempo beat that didn't seem to be coming from the phone that was streaming music.

He turned to see the sliding glass door to the deck was open to let the cool spring air in. Aoba walked directly into the screen before struggling to get it to slide open. Finally out on the deck, he stopped in his wobbly tracks, bare feet aching at the chill of the wooden panels of the floor.

There he was again: Mink. As always, being overbearingly Mink-like as he leaned over tiny potted plants with a spray bottle, and let loose equally tiny rains over the budding leaves. Drums and guitar, accompanied by a woman's songbird voice, swam out of his open window and door.

His hair was pulled back into what looked like a neat, after-shower braid, and he only had a pair of loose sweatpants on. From the waist up, Mink looked like he was carved out of stone, like a Greek statue but with all the color of sun-painted skin.

“ _Just who the fuck do you think you are?_ ”

Mink's head whipped up, eyes more confused than angry. When he saw who had said it, his eyes both softened and grew colder, if that was, you know, even possible; and he straightened up so that, even ten feet away, he was staring down at Aoba. Aoba made a motion like he was literally trying to cram the words back into his mouth. He thought he had thought them, but apparently his jaw and his inner monologue were working on the same wavelength tonight.

“ _Shit.”_

“What did you say?”

Aoba fumbled, physically and emotionally.

“Uh-um- I-”

His silence drew on as Mink stood there, staring. His jaw flexed and Aoba worried that he had made Mink irreparably angry at him. Just as he clicked his tongue and turned to go back inside, Aoba bleated again, like he always did, except this time the words had a mind of their own.

“I understand that bluntness is a sign of weakness.”

Mink stopped, seemed to stare into the distance for a moment, before he turned to look at Aoba with one eyebrow cocked impressively high.

“What?”

“You're blunt about your opinions. It's because blunt people usually don't know how to share their feelings without hurting someone else's. Because you don't know any better. But it's okay, you know. I've been there too. It just takes a little bit more consci- conscious- consc-”

“ _Conscientiousness?”_

Mink's tone was angry, so low in tone that Aoba could barely hear it, but he could feel it. Like a bass note in his chest.

“ _Ah, shit.”_

Mink's anger seemed to grow at the fact that Aoba was missing his usual filter.

“You think I don't take other people's feelings into account when I say something? Or when I, 'share my feelings'?” He almost seemed to laugh. “I know exactly how I want to voice my opinions. Whether you consider me _blunt_ about it or not, frankly, I couldn't. Care. Less.”

And with that he turned on his heels, walked into his apartment, and slammed the sliding door shut behind him, blocking out the music from before.

Drunk and dazed, unsure of what just happened, Aoba gave a breathless laugh. He felt embarrassed, about what he said, and having been scolded by someone who wasn't Granny. It almost felt like he was in school again, always doing something wrong, or stepping out of line. He rubbed his face and eyes with his shirtsleeves, and walked back inside the house to get even more trashed.

_Talk about a miscommunication._

 

 

 

Aoba woke up the next morning in Koujaku's guest bedroom. He had no idea why he woke up in time to see the sunrise, having only laid down to sleep as soon as he heard birds chirping, but he chalked it up to his body punishing him. If it didn't, then Granny surely would.

He shuffled out into a half-trashed, but empty living room. The coffee table was still toppled over, and the rest of the furniture was skewed or even in a different place entirely. Most of the trash made it into the bin, overflowing with boxes and cardboard beer casks, but on the counters and dining room table the nearly empty liquor bottles sat, caps lost to the abyss, next to the empty chasers. The surfaces themselves were sticky with dried soda and sugary drinks, and the whole kitchen area generally reeked of alcohol.

Aoba got himself the biggest glass of water and filled it to the brim under the kitchen sink, some of it splashing onto the tile as he brought it to his mouth with a shaky hand. Then he raided Koujaku's medicine cabinet for painkillers to soothe his raging hangover, contemplating passing out again on the spot. Through the bathroom window he heard the sound of a bird flapping his wings, and someone talking and laughing quietly.

 

A few days ago, Koujaku had told Aoba about a red sparrow that nested in the corner of his awning, often stopping by to greet him in the mornings. So, eager to have Koujaku introduce him, almost forgetting the throbbing in his head, he shuffled meekly out onto the porch. The cold morning air was an assault to every one of his senses, freezing and fresh and killer on his bare feet.

Koujaku wasn't anywhere to be found, likely snoring his ass off in his bed, but someone was definitely out here. On the next porch over, Mink was there, tending to the plants he abandoned, shielding them from the cold. He looked to be dressed for work already, jacket and shoes on, probably finishing up the chore that Aoba had scared him away from the night before. A pink cockatoo pranced around on the table, playfully trying to nibble at the plants and being shooed away by Mink, who smiled and hummed at the birds little quips and coos.

Mink looked up to see Aoba, and his smile dropped. Aoba shifted, gripping his water with two hands and staring down into it. He was embarrassed of what he said, and the fact that he probably looked like shit.

“S-Sorry, I heard someone talking.”

A pause.

“Hangover?”

“What?” Aoba blinked. “Yeah, actually.”

Mink's voice was soothingly calm, and so were his eyes as he gazed at the disheveled heap of nerves and pain that was Aoba, wobbling to and fro.

“How bad is it?”

It took Aoba a second to reply. He blinked a bit, his eyes closing and opening at different times. He opened his mouth as a sharp pain raced through his head. Setting the cup down on the ground, he closed his mouth and instead groaned, holding his face in his hands and hoping their chill will numb the headache.

“Wait here,” Mink's footsteps went away, and in his apartment the sound of a fridge opening and shutting came through the window. Mink stepped back out onto the porch.

“Here, drink this.”

Aoba looked up in time to see Mink toss one of those sporty, electrolyte drinks to him. It fell to the porch, nearly knocking over the glass cup he had set down, but the plastic of the bottle stayed intact. He swiped it up with one hand, gripping it tightly.

“There, that should help ease your hangover. Not the best I have, but that's the only thing I would risk tossing over a fourth-story balcony.”

Aoba stares at him through the fingers that still clutched his face. Then he glanced down at the drink, feeling a little dumb in his delayed reactions.

“Thank you.”

Mink starts to turn.

“It's no problem. Sorry, I have to go now.”

He holds a hand out for the cockatoo and it happily hops onto his arm, and then up to his shoulder, nestling comfortably in place. Before Mink could leave, Aoba remembered what he said the night before and called out without thinking of what to say. His  filter was still having trouble, it seemed.

“Wait!”

Mink stopped in the doorway.

“What is it?”

“About last night- I didn't mean to say that. It came out wrong.”

Not knowing what else to say, Aoba slumped his shoulders and hoped the message would find its way through. And _he_ was the one telling Mink to communicate his feelings properly.

Mink smirked.

“You know, sometimes it's hard to be _conscientious_ of others' feelings.”

Aoba winced, feeling more embarassed, until Mink laughed. It was more of a chuckle, but coming from Mink it felt a little like redemption.

“Just kidding. Don't worry about it though. I understood what you were trying to say. I know I _can_ be quite rude when I want to be. But sometimes it just slips out. Like when I'm nervous.”

Aoba blinked again and scoffed.

 

"Nervous? What in the world would make someone like _you_ nervous?”

“'Someone like me'?”

A blush rose to Aoba's cheeks.

“You know, all macho and tough. No one would mess with you. What would make you nervous?”

Aoba smiled and chuckled, but his grin fell when Mink locked eyes with him and smirked again.

“Well, to be honest, you make me nervous.”

Then he walked inside and slid the door shut behind him, leaving Aoba to wonder if the conversation they just had was real, or if he needed to go have a lie down.

In the end he had to have a lie down anyway.

 

 


	4. Small World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aoba's boss invites him out to a community art event, and Aoba decides to go for the hell of it. Little did he know that he would run into the last person he expected to see in an art gallery.

Aoba was still recovering from his drunken antics an entire week after it all went down. People who were there even stopped him in the street to tease him about how drunk he was. Koujaku still hadn't stopped complaining about all of it. In fact, he had just finished replying to one of his whiny messages when Mr. Haga walked up to him at the counter of the junk shop.

“Aoba.”

He smiled, the glare of his glasses always shielding his eyes, and making his employee the tiniest bit uncomfortable. Aoba sat up, feeling the bones in his back creak as he squinted against the daylight.

“Yessir?"

“Do you like art?”

Aoba felt his eyebrows do a thing. He wasn't sure what, but they lifted and compressed, making his face change expression. He was sure it looked weird and confused, because he didn't ever really talk or think about art, and had no idea why he was being asked about it.

“Art?”

“Yes. Modern art. Like sculptures. Or street art? You know, graffiti, murals, that kind of stuff.”

“Yeah, I mean I know a lot of people in the scene,” Aoba glanced away, wondering if gang tags and tattoos counted as art.“But don't you also do that kind of stuff?”

Aoba knew that Haga used his junk shop business to cover the cost and facilitate the his lifelong hobby of making sculptures. They were these huge hunks of metal and welded parts that were shaped into things like spirals, waves, loops, animals, anything you could probably imagine, and they sold mostly to public venues, and people who need something to take up space in a hotel lobby or plaza. There were usually a few projects going on in the warehouse behind the shop, where Haga spent more of his time, so Aoba never really got to talk about it after he was hired.

“Yes, I do! In fact,” He clasps his hands together at this, “An art event is being held at a gallery here in town. They'll be showcasing a few of my pieces, among other works by more accomplished artists.”

“Really? But, your sculptures deserve a show of their own. You're plenty accomplished here in town.”

Aoba leaned forward, chin on palm and smiled.

“And I'm not saying that to get a raise, if that's what you were wondering.”

It was always difficult to gauge his reaction behind the glare of his glasses, but Haga's laughter was genuine.

“Very well, Aoba, thank you; but this is mostly to celebrate the community's artists. We have many who are far more notorious than I could hope to be. The event goes up Friday and Saturday evening, and I thought I would let you know. Perfect venue to bring a date!”

His boss laughed but Aoba felt blood rise to his cheeks and a tension pooled at the back of his neck. He grasped a strand of his hair and twirled it lightly around his finger, trying to stave off the stutter that came with his awkwardness.

“I'd be delighted to see your work, as well as support other local artists like you; but as for a date, I'm just not sure that I'd be able to convince someone to go with me at such a short notice.”

Truth is, there was more than enough time to get a date, and there were a few people that Aoba knew would probably like to go, but he hesitated. He used to go out a lot, with many different people, but he'd changed, and somehow, rounding up a date out of the blue just seemed so foreign a skill to him.

 _It would be awkward anyway,_ he thought, twisting his hair a little too tightly in his fingers and wincing at the bolt of pain.

“Oh Aoba, you think too lowly of yourself. You're a good kid, try to have a little self esteem.” Haga gave his shoulder a heavy pat as he walked back to his workshop. “I'll see you there!"

And then he disappeared, leaving Aoba to wonder if the people in his life really saw that much in him, despite how unruly he'd been only a few years ago. More often than not, the mere thought of his former self made him feel like a dirty lowlife, definitely not the kind of person who goes to art galleries and shoots the shit with the “community.”

The most community he ever saw growing up were gangs that littered the streets. When Aoba cleaned up his act by distancing himself from gang activity, the new mayor came into power and started to clean everything up around the entire town too. Now, there were no tags, less violence, and people were pretty safe to walk the streets again.

In the end, Aoba decided to honor that clean up, making up his mind to check things out, if only to support his boss's reputation as an artist—And maybe to mooch off of any food that they would have there.

 

 

It was Friday night when Aoba realized that cleaning up was one of the few skills that he had mastered. He was fantastic at cleaning out houses, organizing junk shops, washing Ren, and most of all, making himself somewhat presentable. He stood in front of a very decorative, very expensive mirror in the gallery entrance and tightened his ponytail, flicking the bulk of the hair back out of his way. Yeah. He cleaned up _very_ nicely.

The event was semi formal, so he had pulled his hair out of his eyes, pulled on a thick sweater over some slacks, with snow boots laced all the way up to keep his feet warm. The cold weather that had eluded them for weeks had finally brewed up a storm and turned the month from summer paradise to frosty, wintry hell. The windchill practically knocked Aoba off of his feet when he left for work that morning, so he went back home at lunch and snuggled into an over-sized sweater that felt like being wrapped in a big, knitted blanket.

Yet despite his efforts to blend in with the scene, Aoba felt so out of place. When he arrived he spent a good hour scanning the crowd for Haga, to no avail, so he picked up a flute of bubbly from a tray being toted around, and chose an empty wall to safely lean against. He didn't drink any of it, but needed something to occupy his hands.

After a couple minutes he spotted the shape of someone he knew, standing in a huge group of people. Someone passed through his line of sight, and Aoba craned his neck around them to see that the person was in fact-- Mink– the tallest person in a group that seemed to be a mix of pretentious hipsters and worldly people. He wore a loose button-up, black slacks, and a beaded necklace that matched the decorations that were so meticulously braided into his hair. Aoba laughed because Mink seemed to stand out and fit in all at once, which was strange for someone with a presence as daunting as his.

Another group of people broke his line of sight, and Aoba absentmindedly sipped at the bubbly. As soon as they passed, he coughed it back up as Mink made eye contact with him. From across the room he straightened up, completely tuning out the flock of people around him. Aoba pointedly looked away, cycling through every shade of embarrassment a human's adrenal glands could churn out, but when he glanced back, Mink was still staring at him. Then suddenly, he seemed to excuse himself, and made a beeline for Aoba.

_Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!_

Aoba looked for a pathway between the crowd of people, but as soon as he pushed off the wall to walk back into the other room, Mink had closed the distance.

“Hey,” His voice was low and loud, even over the buzz of the crowd, as he finally stopped in front of Aoba.

“H-uh, _hi_.”

Aoba couldn't command his tongue to move the way he wanted it to, and he couldn't meet Mink's gaze. His eyes wandered and his cheeks burned.

“Of all people, I never would have expected to see you here.”

“Uh. Well you know. Just supporting the _community_."

Aoba gave a shrug, not really sure what he was talking about, but hoped using Haga's dopey jargon would make him fit in more. Mink nodded, a lot more animated than usual.

“I see. Do you have work on display?”

Mink's tone seemed rather excited, and Aoba's eyes snapped up to meet his. They were sparkling, glittering gold tonight. They looked just like the bubbly. He glanced around, the little ornaments in his hair making noise as his braids clacked against each other.

_This guy must really like art._

“No,” Aoba felt a little twinge of sadness as Mink's face fell a little bit. “But my boss does. He does those welded scrap sculptures, um….over there.”

He pointed, and Mink's eyes followed. Just above some people's heads you could make out the sharp, feathery shape of a bird wing, made out of sheet metal that had been stuck together through various mediums.

“Haga is your boss?”

Aoba wondered, offhand, what kind of double-life his boss lived, that he and Mink, and people even kinda sorta _similar_ to Mink, even had a repertoire.

_Small world._

“Mhm. Remember that shop I work at? He owns it.”  
  
“That must be one hell of a working experience."

Aoba gave a snort at that, Mink glancing at him for a solid few moments, before turning his gaze elsewhere.

“You could say that again. But I'm in charge of the store stuff. He spends almost every day working on his sculptures, so you hardly ever see him.”

“I do love his work. It's usually strictly abstract and almost-” A pause, as he searched for words, “Surgically industrial. Now it seems he's contrasting organic images with non-organic materials. It _is_ pretty interesting to look at.”

“To be honest, I have no idea what those words mean. I don't get any of this stuff.”

Mink chuckled.

“Really, neither do I. But I've picked up some vocabulary along the way. I like how he makes animals out of metal, basically. It feels wrong, but in the good way.”

Aoba grinned.

“A good kind of wrong? Is that a thing?”

Mink seemed to smile back, with a little smirk and squint of the eyes.

“Sure it is. I'm just not sure there's one word for it.”

There was a silence as they both continued to playfully smirk at one another, but it quickly turned awkward, so Aoba fiddled with a strand of hair.

“So, why are _you_ here? Do you have work in the show?” Aoba asked as soon as he remembered he was having a conversation.

Mink's small smile suddenly gets tighter, more formal as he nods yes.

 _He's humble_.

His stomach did a small turn at the thought. He didn't really know why.

“Just some jewelry,” Mink tugged at his necklace,“And a few paintings. That's all.”

He didn't say anything more, breaking eye contact for a few seconds. Aoba squinted, feeling his heart flutter in his chest.

 _And he's_ shy _._

“Where? I want to see.”

He smiled up at Mink, quite curious about the kind of art he would produce. He told him as much, and so Mink caved.

“I can show you, if you'd like.”

Mink's words are so clipped and jittery that Aoba grins. He's starting to get a feel for the way Mink's tone shifts so subtly from casual to nervous.

_He definitely isn't a show off, that's for sure._

“I would love that.”

The other man seems to square his shoulders at the comment, standing a little straighter. Then, he just walks off with a, “follow me,” tagged on as an afterthought.

But follow Aoba does. They weave through small groups of people, muttering apologies as they round corners and walk through a couple of rooms of the gallery. Soon enough, they come upon an area that is particularly dense with people. Mink is walking directly toward the crowd and Aoba's stomach turns in the bad way.

He tightens his grip on the flute of bubbly, feeling his head go light. Before they get too close, Mink stops, and turns.

“Looks like there's a lot of people right now—Aoba?”

Aoba feels a large hand steady him, pulls him back into place because he had been tilting forward without realizing it. His head throbbed and he had some serious tunnel vision.

“Are you alright?”

Aoba squeezes his eyes and mouth shut, feeling sick. Mink looks back at the crowd, and back to Aoba and seems to make a little bit of a connection. He gently pries the glass from Aoba's grip and sets it on a table, then puts a hand in the middle of Aoba's back to gently guide him away from the crowd

Mink takes him all the way back to the reception area, which is wonderfully empty, and it's there that Aoba puts his back against the cool brick wall and feels it leech the heat off of him. He takes his hair down.

“I'm sorry,” He laughs at himself, totally mortified that he just had an episode in a place like this, with people eyeing him like a nuisance, too exhausted to hide his panic. “I don't do well in crowds. I'm not usually this bad though.”

He laughs again but feels more like crying. Suddenly, Mink stands close to him, body blocking out the chatter, as well as the light, from the gallery rooms. Aoba's vision clears enough to look into his eyes, and the rest of the noise falls away. All he hears is Mink's voice and his steadily slowing heartbeat.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

 

 

They ended up walking to the coffee shop down the block. The walk there was filled with a quiet attentiveness from Mink, who kept a watchful eye over Aoba as he came down from his adrenaline rush. The sting of the night air felt wonderful on Aoba's flushed face and tense muscles. They didn't say a word, and the quiet was more refreshing than any small talk they could have had.

When they arrived at the coffee shop, Mink held the outer door open for Aoba, who held the inner door open for Mink. He laughed quietly as he entered the shop with a small “thank you,” which made Aoba smile.

They stood in line in a comfortable silence. When they got to the counter, Mink ordered a black coffee, and Aoba ordered something bittersweet, “with all the whipped cream and caramel sludge they were allowed to put in it”. Mink smirked at how he ordered, glancing at Aoba out of the corner of his eye.

“What?” Aoba's cheeks flushed again, but for a different reason.

“Nothing.”

The barista chimed the total cost, and before Aoba could react, Mink pulled a worn leather wallet from his back pocket and paid for the both of them. Then he snagged the coffees, as well as the receipt, and began walking out of the store with Aoba protesting at his heels.

“Hey! At least let me pay for mine.”

Aoba griped, but Mink stopped in front of the door and pulled the receipt out, folded it in half, and tossed it into a lidded trash can, trying not to smile at Aoba as he handed his coffee over.

“It's on me, don't worry about it.”

Then he continued outside. They walked again in the direction opposite the art gallery, Aoba struggling to keep pace with the long strides of Mink's legs. He looked over and chuckled, slowing down.

“You look so scandalized.”

Aoba pouted, taking advantage of the more leisurely pace to voice his complaints.

“I'm not used to being spoiled. Especially since I don't really know you. I can still pay you back, you know.”

This time, Mink's laugh was a quiet wheeze of air, making his shoulders shake as he walked. He tried to nestle his face in the crook of his elbow when he couldn't wipe the crooked grin off of his face, but Aoba saw it. He reveled in the way the corners of his smile tugged in opposite directions, like he wasn't even sure what kind of emotion he was feeling, but it had to be expressed. It made Aoba's breath stutter a little in his chest, feeling like this person was a complete stranger compared to the glowering gargoyle that was Koujaku's neighbor.

“Wh- Oh, then what now?” He _was_ still feeling a little bit scandalized, in fact, and he failed to suppress it.

“I told you, don't worry about it. And if you think _this_ is being spoiled then, boy do I have a surprise in store for you.”

Aoba's breath didn't stutter this time, it stopped, and so did his feet. Mink stopped too, standing rigid as his grin fell from his face in a blank expression of horror at what he just said. Lips drawn tight in a line, and his face took on an unusually dark glare. He let something slip, something he had intended to think rather than say out loud, and Aoba hadn't missed it.

 _'_ _Surprise in store_ _'_ _,_ and ' _being spoiled_ _'_? Now didn't that sound peculiar? It made Aoba's heart flutter like a moth around a flame. The situation was precarious, knowing a little bit about Mink's temper from their previous conversations, but he couldn't help himself.

Mink was staring ahead, seeming to pretend that he didn't say anything. Aoba stepped forward and he tensed up, but didn't move.

“What do you mean by that? 'A surprise in store-'?”

Aoba felt a smile tug at his lips, light and warm, and not teasing at all.

Okay. Maybe he was teasing a little bit.

“Mink?”

He leaned forward to peer at the taller man's face, hoping to coax some kind of answer out of him, even though he wasn't sure what he wanted to hear. Seeing Aoba in his periphery, Mink turned his head to look at him and Aoba's smile fell fast. Staring up into the glare of those bright eyes felt like he'd been caught in a trap.

Slowly, and out of the blue, Mink leaned down. His face hovering so close to Aoba's that they could taste the kick of the coffee on each others' breath. Instinctively, Aoba's eyes began to close, but he didn't feel like he was forcing himself to do so.

Suddenly, though, Mink stopped a few inches away. Their eyes locked for only half a moment before he whipped his head away and straightened up, and it was like he was never that close at all. Aoba felt something in him mourn the heat between them, eaten up by the cold just as soon as it had formed.

“Sorry,” Mink grunted after a few moments, looking away from Aoba as he took an awkward draught of coffee, “Slip of the tongue. You know.”

They continued to walk on, Aoba with his heart in his throat. No, he didn't know. His head was fuzzy over what just happened, not knowing what Mink meant by it, but he was pretty sure Mink didn't know either. They were quiet again, but the silence, it was awkward. Aoba twisted the ends of his hair until they were raw to the touch.

 

 

 

In the end, they circled the same few city blocks a couple of times until the art show was long over. Aoba pulled his phone out of his pocket and clicked his tongue at the time on the display.

“Damn.”

“What is it?”

Mink's voice was a hoarse whisper, like he wanted to protect the silence enveloping the evening as it died down around them. It was mostly dark and cold by now as most sane people had retired and spent the rest of the night indoors.

“It's beyond late. I live with my grandmother. She's going to kill me by the time I get home.”

“Do you live far?”

Aoba sighed.

“Not really. The north end of town, but the last bus ran a little while ago.”

He pulled his phone out again and unlocked it.

“Do you know the number for the cab service?”

“Yes. But you won't need it. I'll take you home if you want.”

Aoba looked up. They had stopped in front of the art gallery, now closed down and dark. The street was devoid of people and most of the shops and businesses were also closed. He looked at Mink.

“What do you mean?”

Mink stepped down into the parking space, and leaned gently against a motorbike tilted on its kickstand. Aoba blinked, looking around for any other vehicle, but this bike was the only wheeled machine in the area, so it must have been Mink's. He should have guessed that this was what he'd drive.

“I'll take you home.”

“Honestly, not that I don't think you can drive it, but I'm a little wary of motorcycles.”

Mink reached back and picked up his helmet, then walked in front of Aoba. Standing below the curb, they were almost eye to eye.

“First time?”

“Uh. Yeah.”

“Don't worry, I'll drive  _real_ _slow_.”

Aoba made a face. His thought his mind fell into the gutter of its own accord, but it was pushed in, and he was completely done with this man's teasing for the night. He sighed.

“Somehow I think you're lying.”

Mink smirked, going to help Aoba put the helmet on, but Aoba protested. He took a step back and tilted his head.

“Are you uncomfortable with me taking you home?”

Aoba couldn't help the embarrassment that forced him to look anywhere but at Mink.

“No. I'm fine with it.”

“I can't take you unless you wear this, though. It's for your safety.”

“Yes! I know that!”

Aoba groaned and Mink's frown set in, clearly bewildered at Aoba's reluctance.

“Then what is it?”

His voice was stern, but he waited patiently as Aoba shifted from foot to foot, like a parent waiting for a little kid to put their frustration into words. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to hide the frustrated quake in his hands. Mink had patience still, not a sign of irritation on his face or in his demeanor.

“It's fine, just give me the helmet and I'll put it on myself.”

“You don't look fine,” His voice was gentle; well, as gentle as Mink could be.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing-”

“Aoba.”

At the simple command of his name, Aoba looked up at Mink, feeling like Ren when Granny would scold him for doing something bad.

“Please tell me what I did to make you uncomfortable.”

Aoba gave up. He tilted his head back and looked up at the sky, rolling with turbulent, snow-filled clouds, and sighed for the hundredth time that night.

“You didn't do anything. It's stupid. You're going to think I'm stupid.”

“I doubt it. Tell me.”

“I can-- well, I have this—Um.”

Inhale.

“I can feel pain in my hair.”

It all came out in one breath, like ripping off a verbal band-aid. So quiet, so embarrassed. A couple seconds passed before Mink replied.

“So is that why you're always fiddling with it?”

Aoba took a few moments, but eventually made eye contact with Mink again.

“Yes.”

“Is that why it's so long?”

“Mostly. Anything shorter than shoulder length really, really hurts. So I just- Yeah. That's why- I flipped out at the helmet-thing. Yep.”

He pulled his hair over his shoulder and combed through it softly with his fingers, angry at the fact that this embarrassed him so much that he couldn't form a coherent sentence. A few moments passed before Mink spoke again.

“Would it hurt to wear it, just for a few minutes?”

Aoba shook his head.

“No. You just got too close, is all. It was a knee-jerk reaction.”

“And you're okay with me taking you home? I can call you a cab if you want, it's no big deal.”

“No, it's fine.” A pause. “Hey Mink.”

“What?”

“You don't think that this is weird or anything?”

“Not really. Stranger things have happened. It's been like that since you were born?”

“As far as I know.”

“Then there's nothing weird about it.”

Then, Mink grasped Aoba's hand and placed the helmet in his arms.

“I can get you home quickly, so you won't have to wear this long.”

He gave a light squeeze to Aoba's wrist. The skin was a little numb despite the heavy sweater.

“You're freezing. I want to get you back to your house soon. Are you okay with putting it on yourself?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

Without any further argument, Aoba gave Mink vague directions to his house, shifted his hair out of the way, and placed the helmet on his head with only a little bit of difficulty. Mink swung his leg over the bike and started it up, waiting for Aoba to climb on behind him. As soon as he did, they were off.

He drove rather slowly to ward off the bite of the cold air, but went fast enough to get Aoba home in under ten minutes. The whole way there, Aoba was worried about how terrible his hair was going to look when he took the helmet off, and got embarrassed about how tightly he held on to Mink whenever he took a sharp turn. And he took _a lot_ of those.

Mink dropped Aoba off on the street outside of his house, chuckling as he took off the helmet, and watched as he slunk all the way to the front door. There, shy and tired, Aoba waved goodbye before he went inside and locked the door. Outside he head the motorbike roar to life and speed off.

“I'll bet he didn't even put that helmet on,” Aoba grumbled to himself as he walked up toward his room.

Before he made it there, he stepped into the bathroom and turned on the light, just to check his appearance. His hair was a goddamn train wreck. He spritzed it with some water and combed it out, pouting as he realized what Mink was chuckling at.

“I am never getting talked into riding on that thing, ever again.”

Then he turned out the light and went to bed, trying to forget the blush on his cheeks that burned him for the last time. Koujaku's neighbor was going to lose his potency. He couldn't affect Aoba like this forever.

Could he?


	5. Heat Wave pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Koujaku once again forces Aoba out of the realm of couch potato, and invites him to enjoy the blistering heat wave that seems to have replaced winter overnight. But in his rush to cease Koujaku's whining, Aoba leaves home unprepared, and when sun stroke hits him in the middle of the market, a certain someone is there to nurse him back to health and scold him for it. (Part 1 of 2, they kiss in part 2)

In the early morning, some days after Mink had taken him home from the art gallery, Aoba was curled up beneath his blankets in the most comfortable sleep he had had in a while. At some point, the sound of his cell phone buzzing brought him out of his cozy stupor.

He groaned and pulled the phone under the covers with him, fiddling with buttons until the display flickered on, causing him to flinch at even the lowest brightness. A bubble with Koujaku's icon floated over a photo of Ren in a sweater, indicating a text. He swiped at the bubble and the screen opened up to the messaging program.

Not entirely awake, Aoba read the message at least five separate times, nodding off between sentences until a second text buzzed in his hand. He woke up a little bit more, feeling irate already, and actually read through the message with bleary eyes.

_"Get out of bed sleepy-head!_

_I said: GET OUT OF BED SLEEPY-HEAD!"_

Aoba groaned.

_"Fuck off, you absolute hippopotamus."_

Aoba wasn't even sure if he spelled hippopotamus correctly, but he flopped down into his pillow. His phone buzzed immediately.

"Uugh Koujaku!"

He opened the message, and it was a sad emote. The phone buzzed again.

_"How rude."_

_"You don't think that it's even more rude to wake a guy on his day off?_

Aoba sighed and sat up. He was quite awake now, whether he wanted to be or not. Somewhere in the room, Ren could be heard snoring.

_"Aoba, it's already noon."_

_"Ugh! What do you want?"_

A few moments later, Koujaku's picture popped up on the screen, this time indicating a video chat request. Reluctantly, Aoba accepted it, flopping back down in bed to look as menacing and disgruntled as possible.

Koujaku's real face appeared on the screen, grinning idiotically.

"I see you slept well."

"What do you want, hippo?"

"For you to get your lazy butt out of bed and come to the outdoor market with me."

Aoba scoffed.

"As if."

"You're also going to want to ditch the denim."

"What?"

“All the snow from last week melted. It's hot as hell outside. Global warming, Aoba, what a time to be alive.”

Aoba squinted.

“Well that's all fine and well, but you're talking as if I have any intention of going outdoors today.”

Without skipping a beat:

“Silly Aoba, you'll get out of bed if I have to drag you out myself.”

Time to break out the excuse machine.

“Well, Koujaku, that would be fine and well if I wasn't at Mizuki's right now. As fun as the outdoor market is, by the time you get across town to get me it'll be over. Sorry.”

He was about to end the chat and roll over again when Koujaku tilted the camera.

“Really Aoba, you are the worst liar.”

He grinned at Aoba as Granny's face of disapproval reared over his shoulder, and he could see a familiar doorway in the background. Over his other shoulder, Mizuki grinned and waved.

“Is that my-”

“AOBA!”

Before he could finish, his door was slammed open, and Mizuki ran in and jumped on top of Aoba, clinging to him like a leech in summer wear. Aoba tried to scramble away but only got tangled in his sheets. Mizuki cackled.

“You're so grumpy when you wake up.”

Koujaku waltzed in, looking cool in his usual wear, which was summery enough.

“Next time you want to use Mizuki as a scapegoat, you might want to make sure he didn't stay over at my place at the same time of your alibi.”

Aoba gave Koujaku the angriest glare before pulling the covers over his head. Mizuki pulled them away.

“Time to wake up!”

He groaned and tried to smother himself with a pillow; Mizuki took those away too, and gently punched Aoba in the shoulder.

“Get up loser, we're going shopping.”

 

An hour later, Aoba, Mizuki, and Koujaku making a few rounds at the swapmeet stalls before Koujaku meeting a few clients for an up-do or two. The ladies in town were often eager to change their look as the seasons did, and an outdoor marketplace was a perfect venue for Koujaku to put on a show. The outdoor market was just down the hill from Koujaku's apartment complex, and Aoba vaguely remembered him mentioning something about it as they strolled down to the bustling plaza.

They really hadn't been joking about the heat. It rose up in waves from the breaks in the sidewalk, melting the patches of asphalt in the street until the cracks in the road were small rivers of tar. Aoba tugged at the neck of his shirt, trying to produce some sort of air current to cool the sweat already starting to coat his skin. It was already sleeveless, and the neck dipped past his collar bone, the fabric as loose and breezy as his wardrobe could get. He wore the thinnest pair of shorts he could find, and slipped on the dollar store sandals he usually took to the beach, but the air was so hot it was suffocating.

Aoba glanced at Mizuki, they were dressed almost identically, and he had a lot more sweat on his skin than even Aoba, trickling down his neck and making the tattoos on his skin glisten in the sunlight until he wiped at it with the back of his hand. They shared a few glances as they walked, lamenting the heat.

And then there was Koujaku, whose only change in wardrobe was the fabric of his pants from denim to something more breathable, but not a bead of sweat trickled down his skin or matted his hair. Aoba reached a hand out and grabbed one of Koujaku's kimono sleeves. The thickly spun silk of it made him recoil in horror.

“Koujaku, really?”

“What?”

“How are you still alive in that thing?”

“'That thing?' Aoba I love this kimono, how dare you refer to it like that.”

Mizuki chimed in before Aoba could spit back a salty reply.

“Seriously though, you haven't even broken a sweat. What are you?”

Koujaku shrugged and laughed.

“What can I say? I like hot weather.”

Something in his eyes flickered and he readjusted his kimono as they finally reached the plaza. He looked to them and gave a little salute.

“I probably won't be done working until evening, so if you get bored feel free to go back to my place. Here Aoba, take this.”

Aoba held out his hand and Koujaku placed a key in his palm. It was red and patterned with flowers, like Koujaku's kimono. He pocketed it, patting his leg lightly to make sure it was secure and not likely to fall out.

“But wait, Koujaku,” Aoba called out as he began to turn away, “I thought you only had a few appointments?”

“I do. Fixing a woman's hair is a delicate art, it cannot be rushed.” There was a pause before Koujaku's face cracked into a grin. “And, they all invited me on dates afterward.”

Aoba shook his head.

“You're such a pig.”

At the same time Mizuki snickered to himself.

“Sometimes I think fooling around is your real job, and cutting hair is just a way to launder dirty money.”

Koujaku puffed up his chest, indignant.

“Yeah well fooling around gets me paid. See if I ever buy you a drink with 'dirty money' ever again,” Then he turned on his heel and made off for a distant pavillion.

“See you guys around. Don't get lost.”

Mizuki and Aoba laughed and watched him until he was out of sight.

“Sometimes I think he forgets I own a bar.” Mizuki grinned at Aoba who shook his head.

“You're both idiots.”

“Well we can't all be as cool and sly as you, now can we?”

Mizuki followed Aoba as he walked into the bustling plaza, throwing fake jabs and punches at his body. They walked along past the jerry-rigged stalls and tents full of junky treasures and plain old junk, trying to avoid swathes and crowds of people that oozed heat back into the air. They passed a lilac bush on their way to find some shade to rest in and Mizuki plucked a twig from its branches. He snuck up behind Aoba, telling him to “hold still.”

Aoba stiffened, feeling kind of worried that there was a spider crawling on him or something. He was going to ask Mizuki what he needed to hold still for when, ever so gently, he felt some of his sweat-matted hair brushed away. The scent of lilacs overwhelmed his nose as Mizuki nestled the little sprig of flowers behind his ear, along with a lock of hair.

Mizuki laughed and pointed out how cute Aoba looked with flowers in his hair.

“It only gets cuter when you frown like that. You know how much I enjoy your grumpy face.”

Then he pinched Aoba's cheeks and walked on. Aoba was annoyed, but he didn't do anything about the flowers, even forgetting them as they browsed from stall to stall, steadily making their way toward the shade of the treeline.

 

About an hour and a half in the sunlight, and Aoba was drenched in layers of sweat that that soaked into his clothes and hair. After stepping away from a booth he felt suddenly tired, and a little nauseous at the feeling of sweat trickling down the back of his neck. He put a hand there to wipe it away and winced at the heat of his skin. He was definitely badly sunburned.

Not having planned to be out this long, he didn't bring a water bottle, or sunscreen, and he thought of building a time machine just to run back to his house and punch himself in the face. Mizuki walked over from a nearby stall and peered at him.

“Hey, Aoba, you need to sit down?”

Aoba shook his head and kept walking on, figuring the damage was already done for the day. He'd regret it more when he got in the shower that night. He mumbled something of the sort to Mizuki, but his friend pressed him.

“Your skin is _super_ red. Did you put on any sunscreen?”

No response, but Aoba began to wobble slightly as they walked, as though he had been drinking. Mizuki put a hand on the fabric of his shirt, careful not to touch the sunburned area of skin, or let the heat of his palm seep into the skin.

“I think we should sit you down and get you some water to drink. Aoba?”

Aoba's body leaned so far that he tipped over into Mizuki, who caught him as he collapsed. Slowly, Mizuki let him sit limply on the ground, holding him upright. Aoba's hands trembled as they clutched his face.

“ _Migraine._ ” He let out the tiniest whisper and Mizuki lightly brushed his bangs back out of his face, tucking his hair back behind his neck.

“I don't think this is one of your usual migraines Aoba. You're dehydrated. You probably have heatstroke.”

Mizuki spoke mostly to himself, glancing up at several strangers who had wandered over to help out. He was about to ask for shade, or someone's water when a massive guy walked up through the crowd and most of the people let him through, so tall that Mizuki couldn't see him past the glare of the sun. His booming voice broke through the worried chatter, blunt and with purpose, like someone who knew how to help, so Mizuki felt obliged to listen to him.

“What happened?”

“He collapsed. I think he's dehydrated.”

The man hummed.

“Not only does he look dehydrated, but he's sunburned pretty bad. Come sit him next to my stall, I have water in a cooler and a bench where he can lay out.”

Mizuki pulled Aoba's arm around his neck and was as careful as possible helping him stand. His body was really limp, and he was trembling like it was freezing out. Slowly he followed the man to his stall, a mere ten feet away, but it felt like a hundred as Mizuki coaxed Aoba along each step. Once in the shade of the stall's canopy, he gently let Aoba down on a cool metal bench.

Sighing, Aoba laid himself down on it, pressing his skin and forehead to the cold steel. He still trembled, curling up into a ball and placing his hands over his ears to block out noise. Mizuki frowned, remembering what Aoba had told him of his migraines; how any sensory input hurt so much he wanted to disappear, how he couldn't talk, couldn't move, couldn't do anything. On a couple occasions, though, Mizuki heard that Aoba would sometimes regress into an animalistic state of fury and pain, lashing out with screams and fists and running off, having no recollection of his breakdowns once he came to. He sighed, wondering what a pain Aoba's condition was to live with.

“Does he usually leave the house this unprepared?”

The tall man's voice rattled Mizuki from his thoughts, hushed but still loud.

“Not usually. I don't think he planned to be out for this long.”

The man grunted and handed him a bottle of water, dripping with condensation, mumbling, “Take this, you look like you need it.” Mizuki took it and looked up, finally able to see the tall man. He had skin that was close to Mizuki's olive tan, and a mane of wavy hair done up in braids and pulled back in a ponytail. His face was hard and lined, like one of those Roman busts, tense with a sense of repression. Most of all, his eyes were a bright contrast to his dark hair and skin, so light they were almost translucent, and they looked right through you.

Mizuki kind of shrunk away, half in fear, and half in awe at this guy's presence.

“Thank you.”

He looked back to Aoba to refocus his mind. He chewed on his lower lip as he shuffled his feet, wondering what to do.

“I think my friend is dehydrated, but I don't know if I can get him to drink anything. He's having one of his attacks, I don't think he'll even be able to come out of the fetal position.”

“Attacks?”

“Migraines. They come and go. He usually takes medication for them, but I don't think he brought it along. Like this, he could be out for hours.”

The man grunted again.

“I think you should go get an EMT.”

Mizuki looked up, glancing around the plaza.

“Do you know where they are?”

“They're stationed at the entrances, by the street and by the treeline. Look for the firetruck or the ambulance, there should be medical staff milling around there in uniform.”

At this Mizuki nodded and walked out from under the canopy.

“Okay I'll be back as fast as possible, please keep an eye on my friend.”

And he set off at a jogging pace toward the entrance of the market.

The man watched him go for a few moments before turning back to Aoba, who had previously been coiled up in pain on the cold bench, and now lay limp against it. Shaking his head, he knelt by his cooler to pick up a woven blanket, folded it, and placed it as a pillow under Aoba's head.

 


	6. Heat Wave pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems the heat isn't just good for making Aoba sick--This heat wave seems to have Mink acting a little crazy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KISS KISS FALL IN LOVE

Aoba could feel something cold and wet brush against the skin of his neck and face. It was cool as it dripped onto him, running down his chest and shoulders, but the burn of his skin warmed it up quickly. The feeling swathed over the skin of his shoulders now, and he could tell it was a washcloth, years of Granny's fever mitigation sensitizing him to the texture of a cool rag. It soothed him for a time, until water trickled down behind his ear, tickling him, and he squirmed, tossing his head to the side.

Then he groaned, his entire sense of balance shifting with his movement, and he almost fell off of whatever he was laying on before someone caught him.

“Whoa. Not a lot of room to move around on here. Lie still.”

And strong, warm hands placed him back on a solid surface, easing his head down against a pillow of roughly woven fabric. It smelled like spices, the kind you would pick from a garden. After taking a few deep breaths, the scent grounded him in consciousness, and he slowly tilted his head toward the sound of the voice, but not yet opening his eyes.

“Uhm.” He tried to swallow, his mouth dry and sandpapery. “Where am I?”

“Resting in the shade. You collapsed in the heat. Here, drink this water before you pass out again.”

At that, Aoba leaned up on his elbow, eyes still shut, and reached out with a trembling hand. He could feel the muscles in his arm  tremble , disobedient to his command no matter how much control he thought he had .

His hand came into contact with the slippery plastic grooves of a water bottle, and they struggled to grip it without letting it slip. After a moment the stranger clicked their teeth.

“Here.”

That was all they said, leaving Aoba confused, until a hand, clammy from the condensation on the bottle, cupped his jaw and tilted his head back. One of Aoba's hands involuntarily hovered over the stranger's, not prying it away, but still cautious of what he was doing. The rim of the bottle gently pressed against his lips, and he let his mouth open, slightly ajar to let the water pour in a little at a time.

He gulped it down like he had never known a cool drop of water in his life. Some of it dripped down his chin but he was mostly sure not to waste it, drinking three-quarters of the water bottle before the cold hurt his teeth. He tapped the hand on his face and it slipped away. . Aoba flexed  his jaw , and licked at his lips, which were still chapped despite all the water he just drank.

“Why are you keeping your eyes closed?”

Aoba jumped, forgetting he was holding them shut. Now he felt embarrassed.

“Oh. Um. Because of the brightness.”

“Do you still have a migraine?”

“The tail end of one, but if I open my eyes the light could bring it back.”

“I can make it dark, if you want.”

Aoba nodded, and soon heard the scuff of footsteps walk passed him. Then he paused.

“Hey.”

A grunt.

“Hm?”

Something scraped against the ground and the light behind his eyelids grew dimmer. More footsteps.

“You sound really familiar-”

Another scrape, and it was even darker.

“Do I know you?”

One last scrape, and a few moments later, Aoba felt safe to open his eyes. Just a crack at first, but then he saw that he was underneath a canopy. He had been laid out on a small bench, with a blanket rolled up into a pillow for his head. All sides of the tarp had been let down to make it dark, except for the one housing the desk full of wares.

It was jewelry for sale, stacked in piles of handmade necklaces and bracelets, decorations like dream catchers and wind chimes hanging from the edge of the table. Whole mounds of beads, glass and wood and stone all mixed together into piles for people to buy individually. Aoba stared, feeling like he put all the pieces together a while ago but couldn't comprehend the big picture.

Someone's body blocked the little bit of light filtering in, and Aoba looked up to see Mink. He was wearing a tan button up, jeans, and cowboy boots. The sweat cooling on his skin caused Aoba to shiver, and he thought that maybe Mink and Koujaku had chosen more appropriate clothing after all.

“Do you always leave your house unprepared for the weather?”

His voice rumbled, sounding like that angry, not-so-distant thunder that Aoba wasn't quite used to.

“What?” He blinked, head still swimming.

“Sunscreen. Waterbottle. Frequent rest. If you start getting dizzy, it's time to go back inside.”

Aoba scoffed, grinning up at him.

“You sound just like my grandmother.”

Mink  growled, low in his throat , eyes  tracing the scarlet burn that raced across the expanse of Aoba's chest, shoulders, and face.

“This isn't something to laugh about. You can kill yourself doing what you did today.”

At this Aoba sighed, but he didn't stop smiling.

“I know. I know. I just didn't think I would be in the sun for so long.”

“Well you still need to take the necessary things with you, just in case.”

Aoba didn't look up. He went to reply when Mizuki called his name from the front of the stall. A uniformed EMT stood beside him, looking stern  and sweaty,  but eager to help.

They walked in under the canopy and set down a first aid kit before stepping forward to take a look at Aoba. After about five minutes of poking and prodding, they stepped away and gave Aoba a ten minute speech over what Mink had told him.

_Water. Sunscreen. Rest. Never forget or ignore it. Blah blah blah._

After making him drink another bottle and a half of water, the EMT nodded, and looked at Mink.

“Thanks to you helping out, he's good to go. If you hadn't helped get him cooled down again he'd probably be in the back of an ambulance right now.”

Then they turned to Aoba.

“I wouldn't do anything more strenuous than walking back to your house for the rest of the day. Continue to drink _a lot_ of water, and change your clothes when you get home to avoid hypothermia. Also you might want some aloe on that sunburn.”

And with that  the medic turned,  gathered his things, and walked back to  their station. Even though Aoba was being scolded, Mizuki 's secondhand embarrassment was palpable. He felt like  Aoba was  the kid in school  who would always get  his friends in trouble  with him; In fact, when they had met, many years ago now, Aoba had long since dropped out of any form of public education,  and didn't really have any friends to speak of for reasons such as this .  Yet, Mizuki was always the one to shrug and not think twice, no matter how harsh of a burn someone gave  to him . And speaking of burns- He looked over at Aoba still seated unsteadily on the bench, sunburn really starting to blossom across his pale skin now that he was out of the shade.

“Tsk. Hey Aoba.”

“Hm? What is it?”

Aoba's hazel eyes were almost dreamy, hazed over by the migraine, and not helped by his  dehydration .  Mizuki rubbed the tattoo on his neck, wondering what Mother Hen Koujaku would do to him after seeing the state Aoba was in.

“I think we should head back now, so that you can get some rest. If Tae saw you right now she'd have a heart attack.”

At this Aoba nodded.

“Yeah, I think that's a good idea too. Let's head back.”

He went to brush some stray bangs out of his face when his fingers touched some sort of construct that wasn't usually present in his hair. Aoba tilted his head and ran his fingers along the expanse.

From his temple to his ear there was a loose-but-sturdy braid that ran all the way to the side of his head and fell down into the flyaway strands that rested on his shoulders. Not only that, but nestled into the braid were little clusters of lilacs, plucked from the larger twig that Mizuki had tucked behind his ear.

Both Aoba and Mizuki looked at Mink, but his eyes were only trained on Aoba. Brows cocked and mouth drawn into a tight line, as if to say, ' _What_ _are you looking at me for_ _?'_

“Did you braid my hair?” It was almost a whisper.

“The flowers were wilting, and it didn't look comfortable. So I removed them, and braided them back in to be more comfortable to you and less stifling to them.”

Aoba played with the braid between his fingers, brows furrowed.

“I didn't even feel you do it.”

Mink looked a little worried, not sure what to do with his posture, glancing around as if looking for something to fix Aoba's frown.

“I can take it out if you don't like it.”

At this Aoba shook his head, and then he stood, his knees shaking so bad that he started to lose his balance. Before Mizuki could catch him, Mink's hand reached out and gently held Aoba in place.

“You seem to be catching me a lot lately,” Aoba laughed breathlessly.

“I'll help you as many times as you need me to.” Mink was so serious that Aoba had to smile at him.

“That's very kind but I seem to have given you—” He looked at Mizuki too, “The _both_ of you a little too much trouble for today. I should go home.”

“Will you be able to make it?”

Mink glanced between Mizuki and Aoba. Both of them nodded, Mizuki's a little more pronounced, as though he felt the other was insinuating he couldn't take care of his own friend, and had to reassert his presence.

“Aoba, I have another bottle of water for you. I want you to drink it on the way back.”

He help up the bottle Mink gave him, unopened.  Aoba nodded and took it, now able to hold it properly.

“Don't you need to drink water too?”

“I can make it back to Koujaku's place.”

Then he paused.

“Can you walk? Or do you want me to carry you on my back?”

“I can _walk,_ Mizuki, I'm not incapacitated.”

Mizuki chuckled, and the both walked out from underneath the canopy with Mink in tow. Then they turned to him, Mizuki giving a deep bow.

“Although it seems like you already know each other, thank you very much for taking your time to looking after my friend. He needs all the help he can get.”

When he stood upright, Aoba's elbow found its way into his ribs.

Aoba also bowed to Mink, not quite as low so that he could keep his balance, and gave a grateful thank you. Mink accepted it but also seemed to waive off the gesture, noting that he would have helped anyone. Aoba felt something in his stomach drop.

“But,” he added, “I'm glad I helped make sure you didn't end up in the hospital. Be careful on your way home.”

He said that last part mostly to Mizuki, who bristled yet again, but heeded the words as a warning. They waved goodbye until Mink was out of sight, manning his jewelry counter once more as they walked home. When they got to Koujaku's apartment they both collapsed on the living room couch and fell asleep in mere moments.

  


It was past sundown, when Aoba was poking at his sunburn in Koujaku's bathroom mirror, that there was a knock at the front door. He was half naked, dressed only in his underwear and a robe, marveling at the contrast of the sunburn to the regular creamy color of his skin.

“Holy shit, Granny's gonna kill me.”

It was a sight to see. He prodded at a line where the burn ended and the cover from his shirt began, when the knock came. Aoba peeked out into the dark living room. Mizuki was still laid out, napping on the couch, and didn't even stir at the sound.

Thinking that it was Koujaku, without keys and whiny about having to knock on his own door, Aoba took his time to answer it. He was barefoot now and  wearin g a  cloth robe he'd found in Koujaku's closet, because the paramedic wasn't lying about catching hypothermia. Once he had cooled off, Aoba's sweat made him feel ice cold. 

He opened the door with:

“Please tell me you aren't as obnoxiously drunk as a think you are.”

Only to meet Mink's stony face and brow quirked like a bow.

“No. Last I checked, I was stone cold sober.”

“Oh. Uh.”

Mink chuckled again, with the same crinkle at the corner of his eyes that he always had when he laughed. He knew now, to wait for the actual response that came after Aoba's jumbled words. He also fiddled with something in his hands as Aoba stepped out into the hall and closed the door almost all the way, to avoid disturbing Mizuki.

“Uh, hi.”

“Hello.”

After a couple moments, Mink held out what he was messing with. It was a little wooden container, unmarked and almost assuredly hand-carved.

“What is it?” Aoba looked at the container, then back to Mink.

“Aloe. For that,” He uses his chin to nod at Aoba's sunburn.

Aoba looks down, suddenly realizing his disheveled state and turning red  _all over._

“O-Oh. Oh my god. I look- _It_ looks terrible. I know. I know.” He wanted to go back inside now.

“Not terrible. Painful. It looks like it hurts.”

Almost in slow motion, Mink reaches out to brush the back of his knuckles against Aoba's skin. It was on fire, but not entirely due to the sunburn.

“I would put a generous amount of aloe on this, if I were you.”

Aoba shivers.

“Skin as pale as mine takes weeks to heal from this, so that's probably the best idea. T-thank you, Mink. For all of your help.”

“No worries. You're welcome.”

He gave a nod at this and started to turn away back to his apartment, but Aoba continued.

“Not just for today! But for taking me home after the art show.”

Mink simply nodded to acknowledge him, but kept walking to his door. Aoba tucked the little container into the robe's pocket, stepping into the hall to follow Mink.

“Hey, wait!”

No response. He knew the guy was shy, but it was like he was running away.

“And as for, um—As for calling you inconsiderate: I was wrong. Really, terribly wrong!”

They were next to Mink's door now, and Aoba reached out and gently grasped Mink's arm before he could walk in. Mink's whole body stiffened, and Aoba drew his hand back just as quickly, feeling like he had just overstepped a huge boundary.

“S-sorry!”

He turned to Aoba, who gets closer still, not really sure what he wants to say. He jabbered on and on about thank yous and misunderstandings and felt his cheeks heat up the more he let his mouth run.

Mink placed a hand on the side of his neck, one of the only places Aoba's skin wasn't red, but the heat of his palm felt like it could leave a burn of its own. Aoba's talking instantly ceases and he looks up at Mink, feeling like a tactless fool.

“Aoba, you're wrong.”

“About what?”

“I _am_ inconsiderate. Very much so.”

Aoba's brows knitted together.

“No, not at all. Not with me.”

Mink laughed, and took a step closer to Aoba who tried to take  a step back  to compensate , so that he wouldn't have to crane his neck,  but Mink's hand stopped him,  kept him close . His long, tan fingers reached up and grazed along the  loosened  ridges of the braid that Aoba had left in his hair even after changing clothes,  only removing the wilting flowers. Aoba flinched at the touch, but didn't move away from it, eyes transfixed on Mink's amber ones, feeling like a deer caught in headlights.

“Then I'll have to fix that.”

All Aoba saw was Mink's face leaning down close to his, silhouetted by the lights  of the hallway ,  his hand moving back to Aoba's neck to pull him closer. And then, Mink's lips were on his. They were warm, and soft,  lingering for only a few moments.

Aoba  pull ed away to lick  at the dryness of his own chapped lips,  tasting a familiar spice. It had a heat to it, a cozy and inviting taste. He glanced up at Mink, who looked down at Aoba like he'd just woken from sleep walking. Just as he began to back away, his huge frame  quite a sight to see retreating,  Aoba reached up, grabbed his collar, and pulled him closer. Mink was stiff and reluctant, leaning only so far before Aoba had to stand on his tiptoes to press their lips together. Then, Mink's tension seemed to melt away.

He didn't let  Aoba go for even a moment, returning quickly  for kiss after kiss  after kiss .  It started chaste, but  every time their lips met, the knot in Aoba's stomach grew a little hotter, and he  reciprocated each peck with more warmth and more force until he grabbed the hem of Mink's shirt and pulled them both against the hallway wall.

Mink grunted, and his hands landed on either side of Aoba's head to steady himself, but his mouth remained occupied. Aoba's wandering tongue had snaked out to swipe across his lower lip and Mink was quick to catch the invitation, delving into Aoba's open mouth and savoring the taste of Aoba's tongue tentatively sliding against his.

Aoba's body leaned into  Mink's , still pulling on his shirt, and if Aoba had a wandering tongue, Mink had wandering  _hands_ . They slid down the wall and wrapped around Aoba, pulling him close.  His fingers noted the fabric of the robe, how thin it was, and how Aoba's body heat radiated through it. Starting at the shoulders,  careful of the burn , Mink's hands pressed against  his  bones, shoulder blades like bird's wings,  fingers creeping  down the sloping ridges of Aoba's spine, tickling his ribs enough to  make him giggle into their kiss.

Then, past the slender tilt of Aoba's waist and pronounced hip bones, Mink chanced a small grope at Aoba's ass. Over the robe, palms flat against the fabric, h is fingers dug in and squeezed for a  good  few second s at the  flesh underneath. This  made Aoba jump  up  on his tiptoes, and he let out a little squeak.

Just as quickly, they broke away from each other and went back to sharing pecks and  gently locking their lips, trying to dial back to a more hallway-appropriate scene.  Between breaths, Mink settled down and wrapped an arm around Aoba's waist.  One of those wandering hands crept up, though, and gently brushed at the strands of hair that dangled down Aoba's back. In the middle of a  peck , Aoba pulled back and flinched.

“I'm sorry,” Mink's voice was husky, but heartfelt, “Does that hurt?”

Aoba shook his head.

“No. It's not bad it's just— overstimulating, I guess.”

“Do you want me to stop touching it?”

“No. I...kind of like the way it feels. I'm just not used to it yet.”

“Okay.”

Mink leaned his forehead on Aoba's and they basked in their closeness for at least a minute.

“I'm sorry for being so inconsiderate, but I've wanted to do that for a very, very long time.” Mink's low tone resonated in Aoba's ears, teasing and serious all at once, and he shivered at the sound.

“Was that okay to do?”

Concern was absolutely dripping from Mink, which caused Aoba to chuckle and nod, _yes_. Yes it was okay.

After another moment or two, they break away. Not knowing what else to do, an awkward Mink bids him a goodnight, and goes to step into his apartment before Aoba snaps out of his daze.

“Wait wait wait!”

“What is it?”

Mink steps out again, worried he had done something wrong.

“Your- Uh.”

Aoba smacks himself in the face, feeling the terror of blood rushing to his head all over again.

“Your-”

“My what?”

“Your number- Phone number. _Can I have your phone number?_ ”

Mink's face flatlines and for a moment, things have switched, and now Aoba is petrified with worry that he said something terrible.

And then Mink's palm comes up to cup his own face in exasperation.

“I'm an absolute idiot.”

Aoba blinks.

“Why say that?”

“I should have asked you for yours _weeks_ ago. Here. Take it and call me so that I can save your number.”

Then, after a few more exchanges and swapping numbers, Aoba and Mink eventually slipped back into their own separate spaces. Aoba, for some reason, resented the finality of Mink's door closing. He didn't know what he wanted to do; he certainly wasn't about to follow Mink into the apartment, but something in him wanted more than to have swapped kisses and cell numbers and called it a night. But what else could they do?

Aoba sighed as he reached Koujaku's door, still feeling the tingle of Mink's curious hands on his body. It had been so innocent an encounter, yet, _not_.

He was finally starting to pin down a name for the flip-flop feeling in his stomach when he walked through the door and turned around to see Mizuki, arms crossed and tapping his foot on the ground.

“Making friends are we?”

Mizuki's teasing grin seemed to glow in the dark of the living room, lighting up almost as brightly as Aoba's face.

_Oh shit._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So this is my first fic since about 2012, but MinAo got me back into the groove of writing my headcanons into reality. I love this pairing so much.  
> I also adore Apartment AUs and extreme fluff, so I felt I had to do something with that. I will add tags as is applicable, or if you have any to suggest.


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